She sat, crouched together, by the corner of the hearthrug under the bookcase that supported the pig’s skull, and looked into the fire and up at Ann Veronica’s face, and let herself go. “No way!” Michelle cried, and also looked around for pedestrian listeners. Romance! The romance of passing faces, of wires that carried voices and words to the far ends of the world, of tremendous mechanisms that propelled ships and trains! And, oh the beautiful books! She swiftly knelt upon the floor and once more gathered the books to her heart. “I wonder!” said Miss Stanley. Everything had so far come to pass as the withered old Kanaka woman had foretold.
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